


Busman's Holiday (the Schenectady Remix)

by alamorn



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Gen, Remix, fake married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 22:46:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11999508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alamorn/pseuds/alamorn
Summary: Marcus was there when Sherlock gave Joan the ring.Therebeing Grand Central Station, at six in the morning, Joan’s shirt improperly buttoned and murder in her eyes. She slid it onto her finger with a poorly disguised yawn, and muttered, “Til death do us part,” with the heavy resignation that it usually took Sherlock about ten minutes to inspire in people.





	Busman's Holiday (the Schenectady Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amindamazed (hophophop)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hophophop/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Schenectady](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2133036) by [hophophop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hophophop/pseuds/hophophop). 



The proposal was deeply unromantic. Joan invited him to coffee, and Sherlock was there when he arrived. “Why am I not surprised,” he said dryly as he sat.

Sherlock promptly slid a manila folder across the table and into Marcus’ hands. “Because you are skilled at your job, Detective, and well aware that Joan and I are a matched set.”

“And that you don’t know what a coffee with friends is,” Marcus said absently as he began to flip through. A cold case, up in Schenectady. Twenty years old, so probably it was either very interesting, or Sherlock was very bored.

“I simply prefer a working lunch,” Sherlock said. “You have some leave coming up.”

“Vacation,” Marcus corrected. “As in, not working. As in, no.”

Sherlock pressed his lips together but did not look defeated. Joan brought over drinks for the three of them and sat next to Sherlock. “Sorry, Marcus,” she said. “I told him to let me handle it, but he got too excited.”

“Well, I can tell you no, too.”

She tipped her chin at the folder. “Take another look at it, and hear us out before you say that.”

“Fine,” he said and started to read. The farther in he got, the higher his eyebrows rose. When he turned the last page, he looked up. Joan and Sherlock had identical pleased looks.

“We don’t need you to come with us,” Joan opened with. “We wouldn’t want to monopolize your vacation like that. And besides, it would be hard to work a three person marriage as cover.”

“So-“ He had to stop, touch his fist to his mouth. “You’re going undercover as a married couple to investigate what seems to be a several hundred year long conspiracy.”

“Isn’t it excellent?” Sherlock said, practically vibrating out of his seat. “If we’re correct, well, it’s the stuff of tawdry late night television. And if we’re not, we’ll still have put together a few unsolved murders.”

“Well,” Marcus said, leaning back in his seat. “At least you’ll be good at acting married.”

They seemed to take that as agreement and launched into what they needed from him: nothing too complicated, really. A ride to the station, some long-distance support. He suspected that Joan really just wanted him in on it in case she killed Sherlock herself and needed help covering it up.

 

Marcus was there when Sherlock gave Joan the ring. _There_ being Grand Central Station, at six in the morning, Joan’s shirt improperly buttoned and murder in her eyes. She slid it onto her finger with a poorly disguised yawn, and muttered, “Til death do us part,” with the heavy resignation that it usually took Sherlock about ten minutes to inspire in people.

“Have fun guys!” he said cheerily and waved them off. _His_ job was limited to poking around any sources that happened to be in the city. And mocking them, a little, though that was more for pleasure. “Take lots of pictures while you’re in Schenectady!”

Joan glared over her shoulder at him as Sherlock hustled her through the packed doors. He was trying to coach her on their covers, Marcus noticed, but Joan just reached up and covered his mouth with her hand, then tried to take a sip from a mug that didn’t exist. She tried to turn and escape back into the city, presumably to retrieve coffee, but Sherlock hooked an arm around her waist and _held_. It looked almost romantic, if he ignored the looks on their faces.

 

They Skyped him that evening. Or Joan did, anyway. Sherlock was pacing in the background, but he dropped a curt, “Hello, Detective,” as he passed.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“My dearly beloved will soon be dearly departed,” Joan said, then took a deep breath and seemed to draw the tatters of her composure around herself. “Not well. We have a few leads. Could you run a name for us?”

“Of course.”

“Leon Hatch.”

He marked it down. “I’ll let you know when I find something. How’s married life, specifically?” he asked, because this was the most fun he’d had in ages.

Joan flashed something that obviously wanted to be a smile. “We already live together, so you wouldn’t think it would be a big change. And yet.”

Sherlock appeared again behind her. “I, personally, am finding matrimony much more tolerable than expected. Helen is a fantastic wife.”

“Can’t say the same about Tony, sadly,” she said with a kind of low-lying vitriol that spoke volumes. She shook it off and gave him the rundown — they were pretty sure that the couples retreat they were infiltrating was connected to the murders, and they’d been poking around all day. Or at least when they weren’t being hustled from spa to chocolate tasting to, apparently, an uncomfortable conversation when someone tried to force wine on them and Sherlock fully disclosed his history of addiction to make them stop.

“If there is actually a conspiracy,” Sherlock said, leaning over Joan’s shoulder, “it’s likely that drug use is a part of it — cults and drugs almost always go hand in hand, after all. My history will make me an appealing target.”

“That’s a _problem_ , Sherlock,” Joan said. “We don’t _want_ them to prey on an actual weakness!”

“That’s why I have you with me,” Sherlock said, with the guileless emotional honesty that always startled Marcus. From Joan’s expression, she considered it a bit of a low blow. “And besides, he was annoying me. It made him shut up.”

Marcus couldn’t deny his amusement, but he managed not to laugh. They chatted a moment longer, gave Marcus a few more things to look into, and signed off.

As he started plugging names into the police database, he wondered how they were going to deal with the bed situation. Either with a great deal of dignity and familiarity, or someone was taking the floor. Marcus went to his own bed, and spread out by himself, and felt very glad that he was the support team.

 

Marcus had told himself, when they approached him, that there was no way he was getting involved past the original ask. He’d drive them to the station, look up a name or two, that was it. He’d told _them_ that too, and Joan had nodded and Sherlock had said, “Of course, Detective,” and he had been utterly unconvinced of their sincerity.

It made him a little bitter that they didn’t even need to out and out _ask_ him to take a few more days off. Gregson didn’t seem surprised when he called. “You’re helping the dynamic duo, right?” he said, distracted and tired. Gregson always put him in mind of a droopy old bloodhound over the phone. He had that kind of voice. “It’s slow right now. Take two. I’ll let you know if you’re needed.”

He wouldn’t be. Gregson had been trying to get him to take time off for months now. _Stress_ , he’d said. _Burn out. Recovery_. Marcus wouldn’t be surprised to learn he’d teamed up with Sherlock and Joan to get him to take a break. He wouldn’t be so crass as to ask outright, of course, but he’d take the days, and the distraction.

He hung up and settled in with his laptop and a beer and his phone and started catching up on the case. Sherlock had sent him a truly incredible amount of blurry selfies with Joan that had points of interest in focus in the background, which displayed a bit more subtlety than he’d known Sherlock was capable of. Probably Joan’s influence.

He ran the names they sent him, and the points of interest, and sent back whatever came up. It really wasn’t anything they couldn’t have done themselves, but it was fun. Interesting. He found himself distracted, and happy to be so. He also suspected that there was not actually anything to solve, and that they had tricked him into taking a vacation, but he wouldn’t hold it against them.

 

They communicated mostly by text after that — apparently, the retreat did not look kindly on outside contact. Sherlock used more tildes to express his disgust with that than Marcus had expected.

~ _Bonding~_ was the last text he received for a while, dripping with disgust.

And then their stay was over, and they were headed home. The conspiracy had not been solved. When he picked them up at the station, Joan seemed relaxed. Sherlock seemed himself. Instead of taking them home, he took them to the coffee shop they had ambushed him at to start with.

“So,” he said. “How’d you do it?”

“Do what?” Joan asked, stirring sugar into her coffee.

“Make it look like a conspiracy.”

They traded looks. “I told you he would figure it out,” Sherlock said. Then, to Marcus: “I have the utmost faith in you, Detective.”

Marcus couldn’t keep the pleased smile from his lips if he’d tried. “Thank you, Sherlock.”

“We doctored the evidence,” Joan said. “And contracted out, a little.”

“Everyone?”

She nodded. “It was a lot of work, actually. And why we had to pretend to be married. Everyone likes that sort of humiliation.”

“There’s easier ways to get me to take a break, you know,” he said. “For example, I was already taking a vacation day.”

“And what were you going to do on it, Detective?” Sherlock asked.

Marcus’ lips tightened.

“My point,” Sherlock said. “Well. Our point. Do you feel relaxed? Comparatively, I mean.”

“Well, now I don’t want to admit it,” Marcus said and Joan smiled at him. It had been good, though, even with them looking smug. “Got any others?”

**Author's Note:**

> Busman's Holiday: a vacation or form of recreation that involves doing the same thing that one does at work.
> 
> My apologies to Schenectady, which I'm sure is a lovely city with nothing that can be warped into a centuries long conspiracy.


End file.
